


the lion of evening

by Jenavira



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenavira/pseuds/Jenavira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>They have thirty years together before Iluvatar's gift separates them, from now unto the end of the world.</em>
</p>
<p>Love throughout the ages; love in spite of death. Or, Thranduil learns how to grieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lion of evening

> _I have loved, and I must sorrow; thou hast lived, and thou must die;_
> 
> _ Ah, wherefore were there others in the world than thou and I? _
> 
> _\--William Morris_

 

They have thirty years together before Iluvatar's gift separates them, from now unto the end of the world. Thranduil does not attend the burial. Legolas accuses him of being cold, but he knows that if he were to give reign to his grief again he would fade entire, and there is too much left to do. The Shadow that took his father is returning, and Thranduil knows its reach. His son does not understand it yet. He sends a finely-woven grave shroud to King Bain and draws his borders closer, and knows that Bard would have understood. It has to be enough.

Later, when the Shadow has been banished and even his friend Celeborn departs the shores of Middle-earth for the long-lost sanctuary of Valinor, Thranduil stays. He has fought too hard for his kingdom, paid too much for it, to give it up so freely. Perhaps a few centuries hence he will long for the sea-voyage. But he never does, and when Legolas sails with his Dwarvish companion, Thranduil only bids him farewell. By now, Legolas understands.

It has been long since the Men of Dale have held any alliance with the Woodland Realm, which suits Thranduil well. He has no ties with them, not any more. Tauriel reports that they still tell stories of the forest, but they believe them less and less. Most Men have never seen an Elf, and many believe there are none left on these shores. He is content to allow them to believe so, as long as his borders are secure and his kingdom inviolate. With the Shadow went the spiders. Now the only peril in the forest is himself, and it is a joy to walk freely under the trees. He keeps his father's palace of caverns in memory of the Dwarves, of whom he has heard nothing in many a long century. It is easier to miss them when they are gone, never to return.

He is walking alone to the midsummer feast, deep in the groves of the forest where black butterflies swarm in the treetops, when he sees the Man. He is young, well-formed, dark of hair and eye, and he pretends to be fearless, although Thranduil can see the pulse racing at his throat. The Man draws a bow on the Elvenking, and Thranduil's heart stops. Not from fear - even at this range he can step aside more quickly than a Man can loose - but from shock. He knows those eyes, that stance, that sure grip on the bow. It is not possible.

But it is so.

Thranduil takes a deep breath, and something flares in the Man's eyes - can it be recognition? Or is it only desire and the surprise of meeting another so deep in the forest on tonight of all nights?

"Are you lost, bowman?" Thranduil purrs, and the Man's grip clenches around his bow, so tightly it will destroy his aim. Thranduil takes a step forward, and another, putting himself inside the range of the bow.

The Man swallows hard, but his voice is steady when he speaks. "Who are you to challenge me? These woods belong to no one."

That defiance. That is the same, too. "These woods belong to me." Thranduil keeps moving forward, and the Man does not seem aware that he is moving back to keep a distance between them. "What tithe will you pay me for your passage?"

The Man has dropped his bow, although he still holds the arrow to the string. He has is back to a broad oak tree, and his eyes rake Thranduil's form from head to toe, lingering at last on the delicately pointed ears. "Who are you?" he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper that stirs Thranduil's blood with memory.

"You knew my name once," he says, and the Man does not try to deny it. "I am the Elvenking, lord of these woods, and more besides in days long past."

"I thought you were a story," the Man says, wonder in his voice. A long pause, and then, so softly - "I know you."

Thranduil seals this confession with a kiss.

 

It is a fitting start to midsummer, though Thranduil lets him go before the evening deepens to night. The Man had whispered to him of a young daughter, recently left motherless, and the familiarity of the story pulls at Thranduil's heart and steals his breath. He does not expect to see the Man again, but it is less than a week before Tauriel brings him news of a human archer who lingers near their borders, and Thranduil cannot resist returning to him.

And so it goes, for many long years. Thranduil watches his old new lover age and fade again, and is torn between the need to shelter his heart from the returning pain and the fear of losing a single moment. And then, one day, he sees him again, and Thranduil begins to understand.

The centuries pass, and he is never quite the same. Once he is fearless, running through the depths of the woods with a speed and recklessness that Thranduil cannot imagining daring with a mortal's fragility. Once he cannot sleep more than a few hours at a time, and Thranduil spends long winter nights soothing away night terrors that are never explained. Often he is a father, and Thranduil rarely mentions his own son, long lost to him. Always, Thranduil can recognize him on sight. If it were not for these small differences, he could almost convince himself that he has one lover, not a series of mortals, close - so close - but never quite the same man twice.

With practice, too, Thranduil begins to learn how to grieve, to allow the pain of loss to exist without letting it consume him. He squirrels away memories like an animal preparing for winter, and though they sting more fiercely than any frost he would not give up a single one of them. As the cities of Men grow, the stars also fade, and it seems to him that each one lost from the sky is a memory he keeps tucked away for himself. At times he looks up to Eärendil, who has thus far not faded, and wonders how long eternity will last.

As his kingdom has shrunk, he ventures out into the world of Men more and more often. If they do not recognize him that is not his fault. He draws eyes wherever he goes at any rate, taller than the crowd, long hair the color of moonlight pulled into a fall across his back. He has re-developed a taste for coffee - they had lived on it at the Siege of Mordor, almost too long ago now to remember - and he pretends that it isn't an excuse to go looking.

One day he finds what he has been looking for. A ragged man, with holes wearing into the elbows of his coat (always, always with the coat) and dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck, asking the barista how much for an extra shot of espresso in his black coffee. Thranduil hangs back at the entrance to the shop. In a moment he will step forward and offer to pay whatever difference is lacking, and perhaps an orange scone as well, no one can be expected to face this early in the morning without breakfast, he will say. But for now he watches, a slow heat uncurling in his chest, as he prepares for something new to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> In my heart of hearts, the part of me that believes in the absolute reality of stories I really love, I truly believe this is what happened. Also, if you ever wish to cry over the love of a mortal and an immortal but have run out of Tolkien couples (unlikely!), try William Morris's _The House of the Wolfings_. I'd be pushing a _House of the Wolfings_ AU on everyone if I thought they'd know what it was.
> 
> Title from Josh Ritter's "Joy To You Baby"


End file.
